Rhetorical
by CherriesAndGarlic
Summary: 'I really like you' wasn't exactly a line you could just toss out into conversation at her age. 'I really like you, Ally' was even worse, because those words and her name together in one breath were so new to her ears that the sentence almost sounded like a rhetorical statement. / Or, the story of them (that is rated T for 'minor coarse language.') Auslly. Enjoy at own risk.
1. Chapter 1—Prologue

**Hi guys! **

**So this is the beginning (prologue, sort of) to a story that might become a multi-chapter. It's very short (actual chapters would be longer), but I want to know what you guys think…if I should continue it of not.**

**Disclaimer: Nothing Austin & Ally related is mine—that stuff belongs to Disney.**

**So…Enjoy!**

* * *

"I really like you, Ally."

Ouch. That was blunt.

Blunt like, it kind of hit Ally Dawson in the gut and knocked all the wind and feelings out of her, leaving her to stand there like an emotionless puppet gasping for breath.

Without the gasping for breath part—it was metaphorical. Honestly.

The standing was, you know, awkward. Because she was like the most awkward and least-qualified person to be plopped into this unfortunate situation. Which was, in her current breathless state, probably a lot more dramatic in the heat of the moment than it would be years later when she looked back on it. If she ever got the chance.

_I really like you_ wasn't exactly a line you could just toss out into conversation at her age (kind of anticlimactic, in her opinion). _I really like you, Ally_ was even worse, because those words and her name together in one breath were so new and unfamiliar and strange to her ears that the sentence almost sounded like a rhetorical statement (which she assumed it wasn't.)

But that didn't _mean_ it wasn't (it probably wasn't). She didn't know if she hoped it wasn't or if she didn't, her teenaged brain crumpling under the stress. Right there she wished she were more of a girl; allowed to break into sobs when her girlish mind couldn't handle what was happening, buckling on her weak knees.

At any rate, the boy standing in front of her—Austin, Austin Moon was his name—seemed pretty serious about it, the abundance of expectation in his eyes close to frightening. What he was expecting her to say she had no clue; _oh, that's nice_ didn't seem to cut it, and_ I like you too_ sounded like it was cut out straight from the script of a romance movie that was undeniably thick with cheese.

Ally Dawson was _not_ a romance movie.

But unfortunately, her only options were to a) be a romance movie, or b) be a gutted puppet.

She went with option B, which meant she kind of just stood there, windless and puppet-y, staring up at Austin Moon and his rhetorical statement that probably actually wasn't really a rhetorical statement, trying to decide what to tell him and how.

The only word she could muster was "um," and even that sounded stuttery and unconfident (was _um_ even a word? If it was, then it was a really lame answer; if it wasn't, it was still lame but possibly even more so).

At any rate, the whole situation was embarrassing as hell.

"Um…" she began, slowly, buying herself time as she tried to stuff her thoughts somewhere where they would stop bothering her the way they were, "is there, like, any other meaning to that sentence?"

It was the best thing she could come up with at the time. Looking back she thought of a hundred other, less lame answers that were conveniently hibernating at the moment, and then she felt really damn stupid.

And this whole time Austin Moon, who was no less than the hottest guy in their grade (second to only maybe Colin Harris, who even Ally could admit was ridiculously good looking to the point where she would maybe even call him gorgeous), was watching her with these really big eyes. He had to shift his glance down and she had to tilt her chin up, mostly because he was so attractively tall and she was so tragically short.

The thing was that Austin Moon was not just the hottest-maybe-second-hottest guy in the grade; no, he was never _just_ to her. He was her best friend—best guy friend, at least. He was the type of guy who was tough on the outside, shielded by cocky attitude and good looks, but soft and gentle on the inside. She could get under his skin as easily as she pleased, because they _were_ best friends. They had done everything together since the summer before the ninth grade, when she had started helping him with his music—for three years Ally had been eating, sleeping, breathing Austin Moon. They were friends, partners…exes…

This conversation—this _I like you, Ally_—could totally ruin all of that. Literally kill it.

No—skin it, and carve the flesh from the bones and chop it into tiny pieces and dump it in the trash.

This half-hopeful, half-crushed expression he had on his face right now was starting to kill her already. "Ally…I—look, I get it. We've already given this a shot, and—"

"This?" Ally repeated. Her eyes followed his left hand, which was making this weird back-and-forth sweeping movement between their two bodies. "Oh…you mean, like…us?"

"Yeah." She saw him gulp. "I was just thinking, like…because last time we said we weren't ready, and I just thought, we could…try…"

"Try again?"

"Yeah."

"Oh." She still felt lame. "Um, so you're asking me out?"

He cleared his throat. "Yeah. I guess…yeah."

"Oh." Her eyes started to develop a mind of their own. Suddenly she was seeing the tiny cracks in the paint on the wall, a fruit fly buzzing in the corner of the ceiling, her own reflection in the glass of the window across from her (she also began to feel very self conscious.) As long as she could look at anything that wasn't Austin, she was all set. "Well, um…yeah. I'll go out with you."

The words left her mouth before she could veto them.

And that is how Ally Dawson fell in love.

* * *

**Like it so far? Hate it? Should I keep going?**

**Tell you what—if I get five reviews that say I should continue I will. Otherwise I guess I'll take it down and get rid of it.**

**Title is also a work in progress—if you have any ideas, I'm open.**

**Review it up! Thanks!**

**~Mia**


	2. Chapter 2

**Wow. You guys gave me like a ton more reviews than I expected—guess you actually liked the prologue. Well.**

**I'm less satisfied with this chapter—review please, if you think I should do more. This will be the average chapter length—my other story tended to have two to three-thousand words, but I didn't update all that often. If this weren't my story, I would rather have less more often than more occasionally.**

**Yeah. Enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own nothing except for my OC (I have an OC now! Yay I'm so proud of myself.)**

* * *

"Ally. Hey, Ally."

"Austin, I'm trying to work. Go away."

"You're not _working_. You're reading." Austin folded his arms across his chest. "Last time I checked, that wasn't your job."

Sonic Boom on a Saturday morning was like that gelato place down the street—the one with the red-and-white striped tarp over the patio—when it was the middle of a Miami July; hot, bothered, and busy. Mostly busy. Saturday, Ally was thinking, was the one day in the week that nobody had anything to do—no school, no church, no job.

Of course, she was having _so_ much fun totally skipping out on the _no job_ part.

(Her life sucked sometimes. Lucky for her she sucked at life.)

The store was pretty much her responsibility. Technically (and money-wise) it belonged to her father, but between his beers and his extreme-couponing, he didn't really care to run it.

(It wasn't that she thought he didn't care about the store, because she totally knew he did. She just doubted that he cared enough).

When she turned eighteen he was just like, "Now that you're legal and an adult and everything, I think it's time you got yourself some more privileges involving the store." Which was dad-speak for "Here, I don't want it, you can have it. Bye."

Good ole Dad.

She didn't have a mom—well, she did, but she liked to pretend she didn't because it made her life story twice as dramatic (keep in mind—zero times two equals zero. In her defense, math was her worst subject.) She thought that the line between a mom who cared enough to raise you and the woman who gave birth to you wasn't very fine.

She _did_ have a mother: a mother who had taken off for Africa when Ally was, what, four; who had come back home all a flurry, divorced her dad—put him through depression and alcohol (mostly alcohol)—and then vanished to the Middle East. A mother who Ally hadn't seen for almost ten years.

She was nineteen now, anyway. She didn't care about her runaway mom. She cared about her store. She cared about forcing the beer out of her dad's hand.

She also really, really needed Austin to give her book back.

"Allyyyy." He was waving his hand in front of her face (he had a big, rough palm, but these attractively nimble fingers. It was a weird combination, but Ally thought it was kind of hot).

"Austin, give it back." She made a flailing grasping motion—it failed, and then she felt pathetic. It must've showed, because he stuck out his tongue and dangled the book higher over her head. Shaking her head she crossed her arms over her chest, clucking her tongue—sarcastically, mind you—at his behavior.

Damn _boys_.

"Seriously," she told him, chin tilted up (this was when she got to absolutely despise being short), _"give it."_

"Why should I?" Austin's grin was ridiculous. She fought back a smile of her own.

"Because it's mine and I was reading it."

"You've read it like six times!"

"It's Harry Potter!"

"So?"

_"So,"_ she huffed, jutting out her bottom lip, "I was in the middle of my favorite part—"

"You say that every time."

"—and it's like, important to our culture—"

"Seriously?"

"Do you know him many copies of that thing—?"

"Okay, okay, have it." He shoved her copy into her hands—a tingle, a pleasant little spark shivered up her spine when his fingers brushed over hers—and he hopped up on the counter.

Ally exhaled and turned away, clutching her book to her chest. "We've talked about butts on counters, Austin—"

She could almost literally hear his eyes rolling…well.

"Come on. Make an exception for your hot boyfriend."

"No chance."

"I'll…like, distract the customers."

"How does that help?"

"You're the smart one."

"Yeah, well, I guess you're the kiddish one."

"Hey!"

She grinned. She knew perfectly well that he loved pushing her buttons, and she was mostly okay with that—she usually got to push his back.

* * *

School.

Blah.

It wasn't that Ally didn't like school, because she did. It was just that she could think of so many other things she could be doing that were so much better. Seriously. The weird thing was that she didn't know why she didn't want to be there—she had a some good friends, a couple great ones, nice teachers, perfect grades, a boyfriend who was, like, eight times as popular as she was.

Dating a tragically good-looking pop star had its benefits—did she reap them? Yes. Usually.

The tragically good-looking pop star was currently leaning on her, flush up against her shoulder, his face to hers. She could feel his whole body rising up and down with each breath he took. It was lunchtime, and he was probably really bored.

His shoulder—it was warm, and fleshy. And kind of bony underneath the fleshiness.

She gave him a bite of her sandwich. Austin grinned and accepted it without hesitation—peanut butter was like his all-time favorite. He shifted away as he chewed and she sighed when the uncomfortable bony-fleshiness of the pressure on her shoulder diminished.

"What?" Austin demanded (muffled—his mouth was full of sandwich and she thought it was gross) when she sighed.

"Nothing."

"Really?"

"Really."

He studied her—kind of relentlessly (it didn't bother her. He did it pretty much on a regular basis, and she was used to it.)—and concluded that really, she was okay. His eyes raked hers (the thought _What if eyes had claws?_ occurred to her) and maintained contact, staring. She stared back. He stared harder. She blinked, and he whooped.

"Yes! I won!"

"I didn't know we were having, like, a staring contest!"

"You so did."

"Even if I did, it wouldn't affect the chances of you winning—"

"It so would. You would get that, like, _I'm-gonna-beat-you_ look you do—by the way, don't do that, it's creepy—"

"I don't have an _I'm-gonna-beat-you_ look."

"You do too."

"Do not."

"Do too."

"Do _not!"_

"Do _too!"_

Ally squinted at him, her eyebrows knitting together and her fingernails jabbing crescents in her palms. "I do _not_, Austin."

Austin laughed. "There, you're doing it right there."

"You guys are, like, _so cute."_

It was a voice from the other side of the table—a girl's (do you know any boys who would say that? Ally didn't either). She pressed her lips together to fight back a smile—she glanced at Austin to see that he was doing the same.

"Hi, El," he said.

Ally turned. El was smiling.

El was _always_ smiling.

Like literally always. And that was okay—she had a really nice smile (it had taken like five years of braces, but seriously, whatever). It was the type of smile that came from your eyes, not your mouth. That radiated light, and warmth (hey, the world loves you, have hug). It was the type of smile that made you feel special no matter how often you saw it, no matter how many other people saw it—when it was you looking at it, you were the top, the one-and-only.

Ally really liked El's smile.

She figured that, with how often it showed up, El must really like it too.

El was that friend of Ally's—you know, the one from fifth grade, who kind of just ended up sticking out your life in the backdrop. She was okay, Ally guessed. She was just about the nicest person Ally knew, probably due to the fact that she was nice to everybody. El was when Ally started to understand the phrase _a little goes a long way._

Even so, Ally knew nothing about her, except that:

1) she had two brothers.

2) she used special conditioner.

3) she wore contact lenses.

4) her name was actually Eleanor.

("Call me Eleanor," she used to growl, "and you won't see the shining light of tomorrow.")

She looked decently innocent, but in all fairness that usually shut people up.

El was good friend, really.

El was _everybody's_ friend.

Austin loved to tease Ally about getting friends of her own. "What," he would say, "can Ally Dawson get a famous, like, super hot boyfriend, but fails to make any new friends since like fifth grade?"

She would remind him of Dez.

"Dez doesn't count."

"Why not? Besides, I have you and Trish."

"Yeah, but you need us. You need other friends."

"What's wrong with El?"

"Do you need her?"

"Yes."

"Really?"

"Really."

* * *

**Did you guys know that the name Eleanor means "shining light" or "bright one?"**

**So…continue? Yes, no, maybe so? Review if I should! Also, copy-paste your favorite part!**

**Can we get 20 reviews please?**

**Thanks for reading, see ya if you review!**

**~Mia**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello dear readers of this story! Are you liking it so far?**

** Here is chapter three—well, two, if you don't count the prologue. Please do review at the end, and furthermore, enjoy! **

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything in the story, therefore you cannot sue me. Your argument is invalid.**

* * *

They had a dance every year at Marino High. Every January.

It wasn't, like, prom or anything. It was something that probably wouldn't even be remembered in a few years, if it weren't for the highly embarrassing photos pasted in every years' yearbook. But in the moment, in that special month, it was that type of event that really just knocked everything else out of the ballpark; the topic was shooting up in like, every single conversation Ally had had that week. She didn't give a damn who was going with who, who was wearing what, and yet she still got sucked into it all like leaf into a tornado or something.

It was just a goddamn _dance_.

And for her it was, frankly, depressing as hell.

In her years at Marino she had learned to come to terms with the fact that a) no one was going to ask her; b) she was a loser; and c) while the rest of the school was out partying and likely drinking their butts off, she was curling up in a corner, drinking warm milk and snuggling with her pajamas.

Because that was how it went. Every. Goddamn. Year.

Okay, well. Not _every_ year. She had gone once, in her ninth grade year. With Austin. His date had bailed on him half an hour before they were set to leave ("sick," she had been coughing into the phone) and the puppy dog thing he did with those eyes when he pleaded her to go with him instead…well.

And maybe she'd enjoyed herself.

A little. A lot.

Even though she was boycotting dances on principle. And really, it was fun with Austin, laughing and teasing and hyper from their giggles, like they were writing a song drunk or something (Ally had never been drunk, but she assumed that was what it felt like). They'd even danced once. And maybe even that hadn't been so bad. Honestly.

Fact was, they had been friends. _Just_ friends. Frankly just.

But now…god, the boy had jumped at the chance to take his new girlfriend to the biggest thing of the year.

"I don't know," she'd replied nervously when he asked her to go with him. Then (looking back it was totally stupid excuse) she'd been like "I'm not…like…a dance person." Honestly, what was she supposed to say? _Yeah, no, you're awesome and all, but I'm going to have to abandon you in this_. She didn't want to do that to him.

"Aw, come on." He had taken her hand—her left one—in his own (he had those ridiculously big hands. He kind of ended up completely engulfing hers with his fingers) and stared into her eyes. Like he was trying to open up a window into her soul or something.

Oh _no_. Not the puppy dog eyes. Hell _no_.

Nonononononononono—too late.

She had given in, reluctantly, and he had whooped and kissed her forehead and it sort of broke her heart—like, how happy he was. She didn't really know why. She was pretty sure happiness wasn't actually supposed to be allowed to break hearts.

And now, two hours before this dance, she was sitting on her bed. Staring at her feet (she thought she had ugly feet). In front of her—on her dresser—her planned outfit was staring back at her, dangling neatly from a plastic coathanger she had hung up on a knob. It was a pretty outfit. Blue, and short. A little silvery. Simple (Trish had somewhat restrained herself when they were picking it out).

She loved her dress. But she felt like there was something inside her bugging her not to wear it.

Why? Because she didn't want to screw up.

(She was actually really good a screwing up. It was a life skill of hers.)

Austin…this whole thing with him. The relationship. The being-one stuff. It was just so delicate to her, and special, like she didn't want to accidentally reach out and snap it. Ruin it.

It had been a month now. Since he asked her out. They were okay.

Ally unstuck her eyes from her feet. She stood up, shuffled to her bathroom, and reluctantly plugged in her hair curler.

It was tedious work.

* * *

She was pretty sure Austin was driving this car way, _way_ past the speed limit.

Every slam on the brakes sent her flying into her seatbelt, and as they skidded to a halt in front of a stoplight, Ally found herself questioning who the hell gave this kid his driver's license. Then she politely informed him that he stunk at driving.

"So do you," he pointed out [insert brake skidding noise]. _"You_ asked _me_ to drive because I'm better than you."

Ally raised her eyebrows. "I most certainly did not!" she countered (it sounded less defensive in her head. Honestly). "It's custom for the guy to bring the lady!"

"The words _guy_ and _lady_ don't fit in the same sentence. That's like two different time periods."

_"What?"_

"What?"

"You _what?"_

"I what _what?"_

"You—ah, stoplight, Austin!"

His foot collided with the brake. A sheepish-like _oops_ rolled off his tongue as their car screeched to halt, followed by curse at the driver in front of him and an angry slap on the horn. This was a very old car, a truck, beat up and dented. Austin's parents had gotten it for him from a second-hand car thing for his…what, like, sixteenth birthday? They had refused to let him get his learner's permit before that—ah, their tenth grade year. Those few months that Ally had her permit and he didn't, which resulted in her driving him everywhere.

(Austin was a sucky biker. He needed _some_ type of independent transportation.)

The Moons were extremely uptight people, and protective of their only son. They'd handed the keys to Austin probably twenty seconds before rethinking themselves.

She chuckled inside. They were so frightened to see their boy grow up, those Moons; somehow, she couldn't picture them letting Austin go to college before his, like, twenty-first birthday. They'd probably freak out about under-age drinking or something stupid like that.

Ally's heart skipped a beat. _College_.

She was eighteen in February—less than a month to go. This was her last year of high school, and graduation was in June…but after that…wow.

She'd spent most of the last year sending in college applications—Harvard, Yale, Brown, anything prestigious. She hadn't gotten any acceptance news yet; god, it the thought freaked her out and filled her up at the same time. _College_.

She glanced over at Austin. And realized she was probably grinning like a madman.

They could go to college together, she thought. That could be fun. They could study music…and they could room together and have classes together…and someday, the might even get married…

"Ally?" Austin's voice broke her giddy train of thought. "You okay?"

She managed to kill her smile—or at least, she hope she had—and nodded. "Fine"

"Well…" Austin cleared his throat. She noticed he almost sounded kind of nervous. "My beautiful lady, it seems we have arrived."

* * *

**Would you like me to keep going with the story?**

**Tell me in your review—continue? Favorite part? Longer chapters? Would you like to see the dance or no? Review review review PLEASE.**

**Can we get 26 reviews? Come on, that's less than I got the first time. 26 reviews and I'll update.**

**Thanks for reading—I'm out.**

**~Mia**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hey there. I haven't updated in a few weeks, and I guess (hope) that some of you have been eagerly awaiting a new chapter! And I, always a disappointer, give you a short, cheesy, silly little filler. Humor me.**

**Also—in the second chapter I said they were nineteen. Then in the next chapter I said they were almost eighteen. To clarify: THESE GO IN CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER. Austin and Ally are both almost eighteen. Thank you to **PrincessVenture** for calling my bluff!**

**Thanks to everyone that reviewed—especially those of you that reviewed long juicy reviews—and helped me get past my goal of 26. 28 now. Coolio. **

**Disclaimer: I OWN NOTHING. Except El. God, I swear I didn't know Disney was going to name THEIR new character Elle right after I named MY new character El. Seriously took some shine off my proudness of her. Anyway, don't sue me, thanks.**

* * *

"Ally Dawson!"

There were literally only two people in the world that would ever call her name that enthusiastically, and one of them was at her side. Austin was squeezing her fingers just too tightly, his face positively lighting up at the foreign prospect of going to this dance with a girlfriend. A girlfriend who was Ally Dawson, nonetheless. His eyes shifted to hers, twinkling with an amount excitement that was pretty much at the tipping point of being creepy. Her eyes, on the other hand, warned him not to offend anybody—anybody was the girl that was eagerly making her way towards the couple.

El never failed to amuse them.

She came striding up towards them in an outfit that was so yellow it hurt Ally's eyes, her hair fluttering behind her like a fish tail attached to the back of her head. Honestly? El was very pretty. Ally was ashamed to get subconscious of her own look tonight, but she did—she was dressed in blue, like a royal-ish blue, her skirt flowing down to her knees and her chest embossed with some type of expensive-looking-but-probably-cheap silver design. For lack of better phrasing.

Austin's tie was red. Figures.

He squeezed her fingers right as El crushed her in a bear hug, making Ally feel like some type of weird human sandwich or something. She didn't mean to, and she didn't really care, but she noticed that El seemed very alone. No date? That was unusual for her. El was a guy magnet with the blinding grin of hers. Before Ally could ask, El had already decided to establish a conversation.

"So glad you made it!" she gushed, perfectly manicured little fingernails digging into Ally's shoulders. "Let me look at you—gosh, you look totally gorgeous!"

Ally blushed. Then she winced, because Austin's fingers were totally uncomfortably tight around hers.

She twisted her poor little hand out of his grip. "So do you," she replied politely, ignoring Austin's reluctance to letting her hand free. "I like your…hair."

El tossed it over her shoulder in a stereotypical gesture that was probably supposed to be casual, but was really just for effect. "Thanks!" A lock twirled around her pinkie. "I spent like twenty minutes blow drying. Oh-em-gee, I wish my hair was as naturally curly as yours! Did you get your ombré redone? It looks totally cute, but don't wear it straight. Too dramatic, dark to blonde and all that. I'm considering ombreing mine, but I don't know, I don't like have curls all that often and I think it mostly only works with curls. Do you like my dress?"

Ally didn't answer, because she started tuning out at _naturally curly_.

She heard Austin clear his throat, and she felt his hand wrap around hers again. "Listen, El, thanks for the chat. We'll see you later, okay?"

"Okay!"

And just like that, with a flip of hair, she was gone.

Ally realized only later that she'd forgotten to mention El's no date-ness. And with exactly zero other conversation topics in mind, and her current situation of being at this dance for only the second time (with the same guy [but a completely different relationship]), it, of course, became extremely awkward between she and said guy.

He cleared his throat again (cough drop?) and straightened his jacket, shoulders back. "So, Als…would you like to dance?" He offered her a calloused palm and she took it, only a little reluctantly, and let him tug her out to the dance floor. His right hand cupped her waist and his left tangled with hers, fingers lacing together and palms melding where they touched. It sent shivers radiating through her wrist.

He smiled at her, and she paced her feet to his. She wasn't a good dancer—news flash—but they'd had a ballroom-dancing unit in gym last year, and she knew a few things about waltzing. She looked up at him, and he looked down at her, and every time their eyes locked she felt like she was being…like…remade. Or something like that. It was completely corny, but she couldn't find it in herself her to care.

"So…" Austin said as they stepped together, "Ally Dawson."

She grinned. "Austin Monica."

He raised his eyebrows. "Oh, are we going there?" She twirled beneath his arm. The silk swaying around her knees felt almost as good as his hand around hers. "Yeah, we are."

"Don't make me bring up _your_ middle name, Dawson."

"You don't _know_ my middle name. Moon." (She added his last name after some thought. For effect.)

"Don't be so sure." He brought his face closer to hers. She could feel his breath hot on her neck, and it felt wonderful. "I can get it out of you."

"You most certainly can not—_oh_…"

She could've picked out the defined shape of his lips in a smirk on her neck. They traveled upwards, beneath her ear, south, along her bare shoulder, springing goosebumps in their wake. Austin really didn't kiss her that much in placed that weren't her face, but she found herself sinfully wishing that he did it more often. She cocked her head and she felt him smirk again, smirking at her pleasure, smirking at the control he had over her. "Mm," she murmured, "yeah, that's a good tactic…"

Then she tripped on her heels, jamming a hand into Austin's ribcage to keep from crashing. It didn't help. She was on the floor anyways.

(She was a bad dancer. Honestly.)

Austin winced and pulled her up. Her face felt embarrassingly red—she was grateful for the dimmed lights of the gym—and her shin throbbed where it had gotten personal with the floor. She brushed off her dress, which was pointless because it hadn't touched the ground, and straightened her hair, which was also pointless because she hadn't fallen more than a foot, and rose to her full height, teetering on those goddamn heels Trish made her wear.

"Not a word," she warned. His lips were pressed tightly together, into a line that hinted at—God forbid—a laugh.

"Sorry." He grinned at her (his nerve, honestly!) and pushed a misplaced curl back out of her face. "It was pretty epic, though."

She punched him—playfully, mind you—in the chest, thinking that maybe, just maybe, dances weren't that depressing at all.

* * *

They were voted Cutest Couple. Of senior year.

It was a pretty big deal to Ally, because a) she'd never been voted anything before, and b) she'd never been part of a couple before, either.

It made her feel really, really good. Honestly. Did she feel ashamed? A little bit. She didn't even know they were in the running, or that there was a running, and looking back it made her feel pretty damn stupid. She wasn't even sure if they'd won because they seriously were cute, or because the half of the couple that wasn't her was a pop star, or because the kids in their grade had been waiting since junior year for them to get together. She didn't know. She didn't care, to be honest.

And she got her usual evening anyways—Austin slept over (_just_ slept over. Perv.) He drank warm milk with her, and watched a movie with her, and she snuggled with him instead of with her pajamas. Kissed a few times, together.

"Cutest couple, huh," he said as she curled up against his chest. "Who knew."

Ally smiled, like a real smile, and touched her lips to his. "I did."

* * *

**Can you say cliché? I bet you can!**

**Quick test: if you actually read my author's notes, put the word 'dingleberries' somewhere in that review you're going to write. Reviews consisting of just the word 'dingleberries' don't count. Got it? Okay. LET'S BUST THE NON-READERS.**

**Thanks for the 28 reviews! When I hit 32 I'll start on the next chapter. I swear. What was your favorite part of this chapter? Anything you'd like to see in upcoming ones?**

**Kay. 32 reviews. GO.**

**~Mia**


	5. Chapter 5

**So at this point you're probably like, Wait, she's still alive? Yes she is, she just hasn't gotten around to writing a new chapter until now (11:21 PM). If you just skipped to this chapter with the button on the ff page, I suggest re-reading the last chapter, just to refresh.**

**Oh, and if anyone has any suggestions for a different title for this story, I would love to here them. **

**Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Don't own nothin.**

* * *

February.

And rain, finally.

Mother Nature had a ton of catching up to do—dry grass, dry creeks, dry sunburns for some awful hot months now. No hurricanes coming their way.

(Unfortunately. Not.)

Unfortunately now, Ally had just as much catching up to do as the rain on her goddamn schoolwork. So much. Every night. She wanted to tear it to shreds and chuck it into a bonfire and watch it burn to crumbled ashes. Then she wanted to throw the ashes around like confetti and celebrate her non-schoolwork-ness.

On the down side, she was way, way too responsible for that. Clearly. (But seriously. That would be awesome.)

God _damn it._

"Whoa, cool it there, Als."

Whoops. She'd spluttered that one out loud.

Austin was sitting on the counter—she hadn't bothered to remind him of the no-butts-on-the-counter policy, because honestly she didn't really give a damn and highly doubted she ever actually would. Plus, she felt like hell, and she didn't feel like spreading the joy.

She frowned at him—she frowned because she never figured out what exactly a scowl was—and blew a raspberry at his nose. Then she turned back to her lovely textbook (_A Fundamental Element of a Teenage Student's Education!_). But literally, as soon as her eye deciphered one sentence about the goddamn relationship between a feudal lord and his vassal, every cell in her brain started to wail for mercy and her eyes stopped reading and she gave them mercy, oh yes. Gladly gladly _yes_.

She slumped over the book, her head hitting the thick stack of pages with a splitting _thunk_, and blew a long, low groan out from between her lips.

Her damn boyfriend chuckled. Damn it.

"You're just tired." He took her shoulders between his hands and tugged her up off her book, spinning her around to face him. "I know you were up late last night—"

"—which wasn't my fault—"

"—which your teachers would understand if you told them about your…like, uh, predicament—"

"—which I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't want to talk about it, okay?" Ally slumped back against the counter, leaning into Austin's arm and tossing her head back into his shoulder. Bliss. "I _get_ that my dad's an alcoholic, I get that we don't have a single goddamn dime in our pockets, I get that I don't have anyone else here. I get it. I don't need to evaluate. That's just it, okay?"

"See, you're talking. This is good."

_"Austin."_

_"Ally."_

"Just…just shut up, will you? Stop talking for a second."

To her surprise, his words actually died. She couldn't see him—the back of her head was still buried in the hard muscles of his shoulder—but if she had to hazard a guess (which she didn't because she was like ninety nine percent certain) she would've said he was smirking.

This hunch was confirmed when she felt his lips on the back of her neck.

They brushed over her skin, lightly and for a split second, but even the tiniest touch made her lips part in a gasp and her heart skip a beat. She felt him kiss again, a few inches higher. On the tip of her shoulder, trailing inwards. On her earlobe. Warm, and gentle.

"I think…I…can manage…that," Austin breathed out between kisses. His words were hot over her skin, and they tingled like tiny fireworks shooting into her nerves. She let her head slump forward onto her chest, her mouth open and her eyes closed. She loved him when he was like this.

(Hell, she loved him always).

Her back still curving against his chest, she felt his fingers in the crook of her elbow, his skin grazing hers with a touch that sent electricity coursing through her blood. His hand trailed upwards over her arm, coming to a stop on the sensitive flesh of her shoulder; his grip was gentle, but surprisingly tight.

His lips touched the sweet spot on her neck, and she gave a little gasp—and then, not surprisingly, she felt his mouth twist into a smirk against her skin, pressing harder into her flesh. She drew her lip into her mouth, trying to keep low sound from escaping the back of her throat.

The hand on her shoulder began to detach her body from his, turning her to face him as his lips left her neck. Her eyes were still closed, her lips still parted; she was enjoying this much more than she thought she should, and, according to her gut, so was he. Reluctantly her eyes opened halfway and she peered at him through her lashes, meeting his gaze. His irises were darker, she noticed, than she thought they usually were.

Her eyes dropped to his lips, and he got the message.

His gentle grip vanished when he crushed his lips against hers, mouths merging with desire and passion. It wasn't the first time he'd kissed her like this, but it felt like it was every time he did; she knew that was a cliche from somewhere, but his manifestations were keeping her too occupied to figure out where from.

"Ally…" he breathed, his lips leaving hers, "Ally, should—"

"Shh." She silenced his mouth with her own. "Not right now."

He caught her gaze through heavy-lidded eyes and thick lashes, grinning lazily. "I'm okay with that."

She began to formulate a witty remark in the back of her brain, but as soon as he turned them around and pushed the small of her back into the counter she lost control of any words she wanted to say. His hands cupped her waist and her arms wrapped around his neck, the fingers of one hand winding into his fair locks; their kiss was hungry, needy, like fresh water to a wandering traveller. She let out the first moan, a low little 'mmph' trembling in the back of her throat when he ran a finger down the length of her spine.

With the hand still on her waist he began to lower her down onto the hard wood of the counter, and suddenly Ally found herself questioning how far they were going with this; it wasn't the first time they'd been here, but they had gotten no farther either. It flashed across her mind how wrong this was, making out on the counter of her father's store, how disappointed he'd be in her if he walked in right now.

_That's the old Dad,_ she chided herself, again. Her father now, the father who didn't know how to set the beer down, wasn't the man who had taken care of her since she was a kid. The man who had taken her ice skating and who taught her how to tie her shoe. The man who pushed her on the swings and bought her balloons at the carnival. The man named Dad.

He was gone now.

She didn't really care.

Besides, this was _Austin_. Her _boyfriend_. The one who she'd trusted with every secret, every memory she'd ever had.

She kissed him back, moving her lips against his in a desperate attempt to quench her thirst. Shocks radiated from their connected mouths like shooting stars, touching every corner of her body with indescribable feelings she was certain no one else would ever make her feel again. His hand came up to cup her cheek, his thumb caressing her skin with all the gentleness of his earlier grip on her body. She was just thinking she'd like to pull him closer when her thoughts were interrupted by terrible ringing sound.

"Dammit." She detached herself from Austin and reached over the counter for the Sonic Boom telephone; it was a device that looked like it had been intended for use some ten years ago. Clearly her father had never heard of the recent advances in phone technology.

Or maybe he just didn't have a dime to spare for it.

Her fingers fumbled with the 'accept call' button, still bothered and out of breath from her activities with Austin. When she'd managed to push aside the long coil of the cord, she did her best to even out her voice as she answered.

"Hi, you've reached Sonic Boom, how may I help you?"

"Ally, is this you?"

Startled, Ally felt her eyes widen. She knew that voice. She knew that voice well, and she hadn't heard it for years. "Yes, this is Ally. What do you want?"

"Oh, thank goodness I got you and not someone else. See, um, I have some very important news and I think you should be the first to know. I would've called your cell but I don't have the number. Is there anyone with you?"

She shared a look with Austin. "No, I'm by myself."

"Okay, good. Are you sitting? You might want to sit down, this may come as a bit of a shock. I know this is a little odd and I know you were probably very busy, what with schoolwork and all—oh, I do hope I haven't interrupted anything important. Well, actually—"

"Mom." Ally's tone was flat. "What do you want?"

Penny Dawson's voice faltered. "The hospital called me right away. He collapsed yesterday afternoon and somebody called an ambulance, bless them—he was drunk, the doctor said. They ran some tests, and, um…well, I was the first relation they got to after they found out, and I suspect they would've called you but I said I'd let you know myself instead."

_Hospital?_

"Ally, it's your dad. It's Lester. They…they've found cancer, and they think he's got five months left."

_Five months._

* * *

**I think you should all know that this is the very first make out session I have ever written, and it was particularly hard for me because I've never actually made out with anyone. It was all based on what I learned from other authors, so do not judge me.**

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**Come on, that's seven more. Only seven people need to review. ONE BILLIONTH OF THE WORLD NEEDS TO REVIEW AND I WILL BE HAPPY.**

**BE THE BILLIONTH.**

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**~Mia**


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